Cheating Destiny
by cellamonder
Summary: Action, Romance, Teenage Hormones, Sarcasm, Broken hearts, Sick friendships and Draco Malfoy! Yahoo! Please r/r, my first fic so be nice! Trust me, it gets a LOT better and really funny, give it a chance! Draco's sixth year. Chapter 3 is up!!! We meet the
1. Prologue

(And now time for the embarrassingly long authors note…feel free to skip ahead…zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…)

(And now time for the embarrassingly long authors note…feel free to skip ahead…zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…)

Rated **PG-13**, no actual sex but plenty of _wrong_ jokes. 

Harry Potter and all other thing-a-ma-bobs all belong to J.K. Rowling. Kate, Nicole, Molly, Ashley, Jill, Eli, Dana, Peter, Kalli, and all my other friends that aren't even mentioned in this story belong to me! ME AND ME ONLY! I invented Bill and Leah, and I control them. Nicole and I invented Shawn…the reason still remains unclear…please ask before including them in any stories you write.

E-mail me with comments or suggestions at [cella001@hotmail.com][1]. I love e-mail, so don't be shy! I'll try to write back to anyone who sends me anything…even if it's a flame.

Well that's about it! On to the show!

****

Cheating Destiny 

Prologue; 

__

"It seemed that something never seen yet long desired was about to happen, that a veil would drop from it all;

But then it passed, nothing happened, 

The riddle remained unsolved, the secret spell unbroken..."

"The woods are lovely, dark and deep,

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep."

(Robert Frost)

*** 

The deep-red sun lay just above the horizon, stretching the agonizing minuets before sunset as though silently torturing the earth with its heat. Its hot bright gold's and reds that were normally looked upon as beautiful, even inspiring, now seemed to mock the few people that bothered to look up and sneer.

It had been three tortured weeks sense the heat wave had first struck. Everyone that had raced out to buy warmer clothes for the supposedly cold Fall weather now cursed silently under their breaths as they adorned shorts and tank-tops, pushing their sweaters deep into the closet for next winter. 

Under normal circumstances the schoolmates at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry would have done almost anything for this kind of "second summer", but three weeks of dragging books and bags all over the burning castle, dimmed their happiness to a dull point. It didn't help that they were still forced to wear their school robes made of heavy black material that clung to their arms and legs when they sweat, making it impossible to focus on schoolwork (although they never did that anyway.)

That's why, on this particularly scorching Friday evening, not one soul was to be seen on the grounds. Everyone was enclosed in the safety of their Dorms (complete with air-conditioning), and no one but the insane ventured out of the castle . . . thus the reason no one could hear the girl's screams as the sun slowly began to sink below the mountains. 

Maybe if it was colder someone could have helped her…or maybe this is what they call destiny…  


***

The sober moon rose slowly from its long sleep, letting crisp darkness descend over the forest. Like a coin suspended in the velvet air it looked down on the almost peaceful stage, watching in silence the scene below, almost hidden by the thick trees. 

It's amazing that the moon sees everything, hovering above the earth like a silent watchman, yet it seemed to look down now with a soft understanding. If it could, it would smile; knowing that even from horror spawns a new beginning.

Let us now follow the moons gaze, down through the thick trees, past the awaking birds beginning to whisper their soft music, to a six-teen year old girl resting from the heat. With this girl, our story begins…

***

Four days without sleep is prone to cause paranoia…it's even worse if you were paranoid to began with…

The last trace of sunlight was leaking slowly from the air, and she could feel her eyelids began to drop. Every part of her hurt and burned with every agonizing step, but she couldn't stop now. Her instinct told her it was close; …it was _so _close…she could feel it…_so close_

"Rest…" her body screamed with each throbbing pain sent through her body. Desperately she ignored the pain, focussing instead on her gasping breaths and the trotting sound of her feet against the hot dusty ground. _"Need rest…"_

Her knees bent involuntarily and, with a soft noise muffled by the dry floor and a light whimper of surprise, her legs collapsed underneath her, refusing to drag her tired body a step further. Vainly she pushed her self up again, staggering under the unexpected weight of her pack. 

It's difficult to move with a willing mind and a limp body; the two never seem to agree. She managed three steps before she stumbled drunkenly and collapsed to the ground.

With a residing sigh barely distinguishable from her ragged gasps, she let her body win, knowing that pushing herself further in this heat was nothing short of suicide. Besides, she needed a good rest.

Her exhausted muscles relaxed as she moved into a more comfortable position; her back resting against an old tree, half bent with age and wood lice, and her legs tucked beneath her. She panted steadily, reaching up and wiping her forehead with her sleeve, her soft beautiful face was worn with a tried expression, the gray piercing eyes half closed above dark circles marking her days with out sleep.

Her hand fumbled to her pack of its own accord, and managed to pull out an unmarked water bottle. The liquid was tinged with grit and lukewarm from heat, but it was better then dying of dehydration. 

The lid was quickly unscrewed and tossed aside, rolling to stop at the base of a young sycamore. She lifted the bottle hungrily to her line lips and swallowed half in a matter of seconds. The rest she promptly poured over her glistening face, feeling the cool water slide through her long silver-gold hair. Not attempting to wash any off, she simply leaned back tilting her head to the darkening sky and letting the refreshing liquid slither its own course down her pale features.

The soft rhythmic sound of sweet bird song played through the air around her, capturing her in a gentle lullaby. It was so heavenly perfect, an earthy captivating sound that engulfed her mind, leaving her body to a well-deserved rest.

She barely noticed as her eyes began to close, or when her head nodded lightly forward, allowing her thin hair to sweep over her face. Her mind slowly began to drift away, leaving the body and entering a world of sleep. A world devoid of her problems, of her mission, a world of peace and bliss…

The sound of a breaking twig echoed strangely in the night air, slashing through the gentle forest noise in an eerily and unnatural way and plunging the forest into a nervous expectant silence. The birds stopped, the final crisp note extending into nothingness.

The girls eyes snapped open at the sound, but she remained still her head lifting only slightly and breaking her stupor. Her eyes widened; whether from fear or shock is hard to say, but her quivering limbs gave the impression of a scared child.

Her shoulders hunched unnoticeably under her light cloak and her pale hand reached up to push the stray hair slowly from her face.

All warmth had left the air, fading like the sunlight had. She became increasingly aware of the storm clouds billowing above, making the night feel even darker.

Slowly, cautiously, her eyes and head turned slightly, scanning the underbrush for movement.

Silence.

A forest is never, _ever_ silent.

Her unmoving icy-gray eyes watched intently, not one muscle moving. A small bead of sweat slid down her cheek…but not from heat.

Complete, ghostly quiet…

A bird rustled nearby where her eyes bored into the woods. It took off with a shrill warning cry, its sudden movement and fearful call cutting through the tense atmosphere like a knife…a knife that sent a wave of chill down the girl's spine.

__

"Oh, shit…"

Abandoning her bag she took off, forcing her body to move not at a slow trot any more but a full out run. The deadly silence now filled with her agonizing painting and squeal of panic. Thunder crashed directly behind her, and was followed by a long flash of light ripping into the darkness.

Far behind, nestled in the shadows, a sound quite different then the frightened bird's call filled her terrified ears; the sound of footsteps. Not dashing as she did, but a slow, sure beat, like a cat when it knows it has its prey cornered, and never bothers to waste its breath with a needless chase. She was nothing but a mouse, waiting to get eaten making a vain and unnecessary attempt for freedom.

Her helplessness turned to anger and she forced her screaming limbs to go faster, knowing her life, and several others, depended on it. 

__

"The castle's around here somewhere…I know it is…it has to be…" 

The storm grew more intense, blocking out the heavenly sound of an empty forest and plunging the night into fear. The first rain drop splattered onto the dusty ground, and was swallowed by its starved hunger. Another followed. Then another. Soon rain poured from the sky as if from the gods themselves, covering the thirsty dust, and turning the forest floor to mud.

The girl stopped momentarily, leaning against a tree and gasping for breath, her eyes darting down the forked path ahead.

Left or right.

Right or left.

__

"Goddamn it, just chose!" she thought angrily to herself, feeling her wet hair stick unpleasantly to her neck, soaking the front of her robes and cloak. She paused a moment longer to pick the left path, and pushed herself away from the tree supporting her dead weight.

She never got to the path…she never even got close…

The moment she stepped forward, willing herself to a sprint, she felt a strong hand wrap firmly around her narrow wrist, holding her tight. Thunder crashed above, unnoticed by the struggling "cat and mouse". 

With a strangled gasp she tried to fight forward.

Something cold and silver glinted in her pursuer's hand as he raised it high, bringing the thin knife to rest deep in her side.

A scream of pain,

A snicker of triumph,

A sob of defeat,

A flash of lightning,

And he was gone.

All trace of the once hot air left the forest as mid-night set in, the hour tolled rhythmically by an owls hunting call as it echoed in the dark. The storm slowed to a stop, bringing an end to the heat wave and the forest suffering.

A large red stain covered the cold earth, pooling around the young girl where she fell. She didn't bother trying to pull out the knife, she didn't bother moving from the place she heavily landed, and she didn't bother to wipe the salty rivers streaming from her half-closed eyes. Even if she had the strength to move, she still wouldn't have bothered.

Her eyelids began to flutter, as a voice echoed above her, cracked with fear and sympathy. She ignored it, wanting nothing more then to rest. She'd failed, and there was nothing left to do but sleep. The cold would bother her for only a little longer…

The last thing she saw before caving in to blackness was a strong pale hand touching her wrist, checking for a pulse…then her eyes shut tightly, and she passed out.

***

The End…for now…

Sorry that chapter was so short, the others will be LONG! Also sorry that it sucked so much :sigh: please boost my ego by acting like you loved it.

Friends don't let friends not review! Tell me what you hated and loved (if anything) so I can make the next part even better. Love ya!~cellamonder

   [1]: mailto:cella001@hotmail.com



	2. A Prophecy Fulfilled

(And now time for the embarrassingly long authors note…feel free to skip ahead…zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…)

Rated **PG-13**, no actual sex but plenty of _wrong_ jokes. (please tell me if you think its underrated. Thanks J ) 

Harry Potter and all other thing-a-ma-bobs all belong to J.K. Rowling. 

Bill, Leah and Shawn all belong to me (they will be in this story…just wait…)

E-mail me at [cella001@hotmail.com][1]. I love e-mail, so don't be shy! I'll write back to **anyone** who sends me **anything**…even if it's a flame.

Sorry to all those people who thought the hand belonged to Draco, sorry guys! Also sorry to all the people that thought the girl was Hermione or Ginny or Pansy…its not…sorry! I hope you still keep reading!

That's it, now for chapter NUMBER ONE!

****

Cheating Destiny 

****

Part 1; The Silenced Messenger

Chapter 1; A Prophecy Fulfilled 

__

"I claim not to have controlled events, but confess plainly that events have controlled me…"

(Abraham Lincoln)

***

The storm passed as quickly as it had come, leaving the dried yellowing grass drenched and springy. The sweet smell of rain drifted over the cool night air, sweeter then the scent, or even taste, of sugar (and twice as good for you). It was the smell of life, fresh and soft.

The beauty of the rain was lost, however, on Professor Snape who walked through the moonlit grounds with a sneer, not a smile.

Normally the thought of a "moonlit walk" sickened him to his stomach, and even now he couldn't pinpoint _why_ he was out on the grounds at this ungodly hour of the morning. Something deep inside had brought him out here, forcing him across the wet grass in only a black nightgown and pink fuzzy bunny slippers. 

He was halfway to the glittering lake, and halfway convinced that he should turn back when a scream pierced the dark air.

He stopped dead, fearful eyes turned toward the noise. Silence flooded back in, the sudden absence of any noise made Snape shudder.

At a jog he headed to the forest, mentally kicking himself for forgetting to warn his students about the dangers of the Forbidden Forest. _"You'd think the name alone would keep them away,"_ he thought viciously, grinding his teeth together as he broke into a full out run. _"But, no! They have to be dumb enough to be curious…"_

His feet, still clad in pink bunnies with the fluffy ears flapping in the light breeze, slowed as he reached the trees, and he carefully pushed and dodged his way through.

"Hello?" he called urgently, peering through the darkness. "Hello? Is some one there?"

He stopped to listen, damning his heart for beating so loudly. Not to far away he could hear a light sob. That was all he needed. Twisting around the trees and bushes he almost stumbled over her, stopping and cursing just in time.

His eyes widened, recognizing the figure huddled against the wet ground. "Oh, my god," he whispered, leaning down to see her face, praying he was mistaken. "I-Icy?" 

A string of tears ran from her closed eyes, and she shook with fear and cold. But as he stared the shaking lessened and stopped.

His hands twisted around her wrist, feeling the ice-cold skin press against his fingers. For one agonizing minute he couldn't feel a pulse, then as he forced himself to ignore his own heavy breathing and pounding heart, he could just barely make out a faint beat.

That faint beat was good enough.

Stooping all the way down he tucked his hands under her and, with difficulty, lifted her cold limp body. He winced as his eyes roved over the long gash down her side. He knew better then to pull the knife out, it would only cause more blood loss and pain.

One arm under supporting her legs by the nook under her knees, and the other wrapped tightly under her ribs, he began moving back toward the castle. 

***

Professor Flitwick was close to sleep when the sudden craving for Cheese Munchies over whelmed him. 

Stumbling down the empty halls, he began to head for the kitchens, hoping the house-elfs hadn't retired to bed yet. Flitwick had always gotten along _wonderfully_ with the creatures…perhaps it was because they were both about the same relative size.

He was just passing the Great Hall, listening to his stomach's growl echo in the deserted school, when the main door burst open and Professor Snape staggered in.

Snape was cradling a girl, seemingly young enough to be a student. Her head and shoulders hung limply over his arms.

"Severus!" Squeaked Flitwick, eyes nearly popping out in shock. "What is-…"

"Oh, be quiet!" Flitwick's eyes narrowed; no wonder no one could stand Snape.Snape was gasping for breath, his chest, covered in shimmering blood, rose and feel with each shuddering gasp. "Get the headmaster!" he growled. 

Flitwick thought he saw a flicker of something not remotely like hate flash in the Professors eyes (was it sympathy?) as he whispered, barely distinguishable over the gasps for air, "The prophecy has started…"

***

I'm stopping right now…the end!

Hehe

Thanks to ALL the people that reviewed and told me to keep writing! I love you guys!

Thank you; Meriadoc, Ginny .H. Potter (no one knows what "sign in" means), [Darla][2], [Samantha Ishida][3] (Yay, I'm older then someone! Hehe just kidding), HGWeasley, Jessica, Vanessa the Potters' Daughter, Ignacia, [HP Fan four][4], [Michelle Ravel][5], Mel (the first person to e-mail me!) [infinitykat][6] (I have four words for you Kate, Nice…shoes…you can figure out the rest…) 

Wow, that was really short…but I wanted to get it up. Until next time, BYEBYE!

   [1]: mailto:cella001@hotmail.com
   [2]: index.fic?action=Directory-AuthorProfile&UserID=34073
   [3]: index.fic?action=Directory-AuthorProfile&UserID=49690
   [4]: index.fic?action=Directory-AuthorProfile&UserID=48249
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	3. A New Arrival

Rated PG-13, no actual sex but plenty of wrong jokes

Rated **PG-13**, no actual sex but plenty of _wrong_ jokes. (please tell me if you think its underrated. Thanks) 

Harry Potter and all other thing-a-ma-bobs all belong to J.K. Rowling. 

Bill, Leah and Shawn all belong to me (All three make an appearance in THIS CHAPTER!) By the way, I never liked Crabbe and Goyle so I killed them…sorry. They've been replaced by Bill and Shawn (I'm terrible at coming up with names, opps)

Thanks to Nicole Mills, Kate Bryan (infinitykat), and Audery, my editors. 

You rock babes, but, Nicole, I'll never forgive you for waking me up … grrrrrrrrrrrrrrr … NO ONE SHOULD EVER WAKE ME UP AT 10:30 IN THE MORNING! GRRRRRRRRRRRRR 

Please, please, please, please PLEASE e-mail me at [cella001@hotmail.com][1]. I love e-mail, to bad I never get any! I'll write back to **anyone** who sends me **anything**…even if it's a flame.

Sorry about all the mistakes and format problems in the last chapter! My typing program died…RIP…

A lot of this chapter is just "introducing the characters", which is always really boring. I've tried to spice it up with humor but :sigh: I suck at humor! Just warning you! (I suck at Romance too, but we won't get into that right now). This is one of my worst writings. SOB! Oh well, enjoy!

Now for chapter NUMBER TWO

****

Cheating Destiny 

****

Part 1; The Silenced Messenger

Chapter 2; A New Arrival

All remains of the previous night's storm had left the hazy morning air, and now the sun peaked shyly over the mountains, it's warm light offering

the hope of a new day. Hope; that word held such a praise, fitting perfectly into the events about to unfold under the new dawn. 

To anyone, this looked like the start of yet another perfectly normal Saturday. I only wish that they were right. 

Down below the twinkling sky, the forest was still. Birds slowly returned to their perches, throwing their feathered heads to the sky and serenading the now peaceful woods with songs of happiness and remembrance of a time before.

No one looking down apon the misty forest would ever had guessed what had happened. Unless, of course, they stumbled upon the pool of flashing blood that still remained untouched, silently telling the nights story.

***

The sun's silky glow drifted softly past the closed ragged green curtains, pushing though the small rips left uncovered and flowing softly over the dusty floor.

Sunlight always looked strange, almost foreign, against the dungeons cold stones, and today was no different. It was like a rose, sprouting up from a valley of weeds. Not a truly unwelcome sight, but alien in its own soft way.

Of course the three sleepers occupying the rather too large room ignored the beauty of the warm light. Every few minutes one would stir and look around in a contented daze, but their eyes, accustom to the dark, would pass over the sun's gift before they would collapse back into subconscious. Igniting the morning air with their muffled snores.

Draco Malfoy shifted to his side in his restful stupor, barely noticing as a thin soft ray landed on his covers, moving as the day progressed until it came to rest on his pale face. The bright yellow beam caressing his heightened cheekbone with warmth. As the sunlight touched his skin it seemed to bring color to the dark soul, lighting his face with a soft tinge. He rolled away again, though, flinching away from the loving heat.

Anyone having met him only a few years before would never have recognized the boy now. His once frail and deadly white body had grown tall and lean, but still remaining pale as milk, making him look like unbreakable porcelain. His well-chiseled jaw line and cheekbones added to the sharp untouchable look like glass, accentuating his deep icy gray eyes. Eyes that once filled with childish optimism and schoolboy hate, but now glazed over with hidden pain and pure loathing. 

Even in sleep he retained his tensed attitude, waking at the slightest sound or movement. A vampire nestled apprehensively in a dark coffin, awaiting the coming of night, best describes his sleeping look. Thin lips drawn downward in a permanent sneer, almost mistakable for a calm fear. At least until the ray of light once more moved to his face, causing him to do something he rarely did, even when awake; He smiled. 

The day seemed to pierce to Draco's very heart, and its welcomed glow twisted around his dream, spiraling him out of nightmares and into a world of peace…if only for moment.

(Draco dreaming)

_Perfection. That's the only word to describe this place; perfection._

Draco walked slowly through a world of mist, loving the feeling of nothingness. In a world of nothingness, you're safe. All your problems just lift away…

It's a truly wonderful feeling…not the feeling of getting what (or who) you want, but the feeling of getting nothing. A place of no good, no evil. Truly a Utopia in its literal meaning (no place).

Draco would give anything to rest here forever, to never leave this world void of stress. A world away from his father, from school, from…well, everything.

Never quite sure whether he was standing or sitting (or perhaps both), he tried to clear his mind and enjoy the bliss. 

In the life away from dreams it's virtually impossible to simply "forget" your troubles and relax. But in a dream, it's easy and simply wonderful.

He closed his eyes contentedly and felt himself slip away from his problems.

For hours he seemed to be there, nothing but nothingness filling his exhausted head. When suddenly the mist began to take shape, forming around him like a picture being drawn before his tired eyes.

Long wet grass, trampled down in places, coated in blood in others. Somehow the completely deserted ghastliness of the land rushed him with a victorious chill. All around objects began to form- mountains, blue and white in the far distance, a valley of trees just beyond a slop of hills, and to the right something that shook his clouded memory; a long shimmering pond, almost big enough to be a lake.

With only a slight change in expression he understood. This was Hogwarts grounds…but it was different. It seemed…smaller, less important then the way he normal stared at its lush green hills. And now, now it seemed to reek of battle.

He stared around, taking it all in and running it through his memory. Never had he expected to see Hogwarts like this. Filled with the stench of death and battle…to Draco, the stench of home.

His feet-completely of their own accord-carried him to the lakes edge, but instead of gazing down at its shimmering, diamond like surface, his eyes were dragged to its dirt washed bank. At least this was something that looked the same…

That's when he saw the flower. A single rose had vainly pushed through the sandy ground, and tuned its full blossom to the sky. The bright sun's light was denied by the flowers hard petals, and pushed away, leaving the plant void of any brightness. In real life this sort of description is hard to picture, but in the dream Draco could almost sense_ the flowers thoughts as it vainly held high it's head, pushing away all trace of sunlight._

What surprised him most about this exquisite flower was its color. It was like black blood. Like someone had poured the darkest ink over its soft surface and turned the once bright petals to cold unfeeling pieces of silk. 

Draco had never been the type to "stop and smell the flowers", and he surprised even himself as he knelt and gently cupped the flowers only bud in his hands.

The dark black color began to flow off like water. Slowly it slid over his hands and dripped back into the ground. At the time this seemed natural, and Draco thought nothing weird of it, as though flowers normal drained of ink color before his eyes.

Now the rose was a perfect moon-white, and instead of turning its back to the bright light, it welcomed it, spreading its petals wider.

Suddenly the grass around sparkled with dew, not blood, and it reeked of peace, not battle.

He was so captured by the perfect picturesque mood the sudden change of the flower brought, that he barely heard the voice at first. It filled the air like mist. 

It wasn't coming from the flower, as Draco first thought, but rather from the place itself. He recognized it, yet couldn't tell from where.

Soft. A girls voice. Intimidated.

"Honestly?" a whisper, like wind. "You scare the hell out of me."

His own voice now. Drawling, snide and amused. Draco had never heard his own voice out loud, the way you or I would hear it, and it stunned him just how cynical he sounded.

"In a good way or a bad way?"

" . . . both . . ."

Draco's face showed little emotion as his dream slipped back into mist, bathing him in the surreal world.

Though pleased he did not look, it doesn't mean he wasn't. The girls voice had shaken something in him, and he would have died a thousand times to bring it back. The mist overwhelmed his senses, though, and soon all traces of the pond, the battlefield, and the rose were gone. Erased like the countless other dreams he'd suffered through that night.

Despite this he wanted to remain asleep forever. Sleep was the only pace he could be himself, and not the terrified little boy his father had once made him.

He was determined to make the best of it while his precious few minutes of sleep remained. They say it's darkest before the dawn, but the opposite held true now. It always seems that when a dream is at its complete best it's shaken into reality. Maybe the saying is wrong; maybe it's brightest before the dark.

He was intoxicated with the perfect bliss, his seldom-achieved joy acting like a drug. Draco's head rolled upward unto the pillow his smirk just beginning to widen, when a terrible and completely unwanted sound sliced through the barriers of sleep. A sound of pure evil, a sound that inflicts suffering on all that dare hear it, a sound that every child _loathes_.

"Beep, beep…Beep, beep… Beep, beep… Beep, beep… Beep, beep... Beep, beep…" 

The alarm clock.

Draco's eyes snapped open and he muttered incoherently…well, it was incoherent at first, until it turned into a long string of foul (yet unbelievably creative) swearing. 

Half-awake he rolled over, blinking heavily to adjust to the bright room, flinching away from the sudden light. It took thirty whole seconds for him to remember where (and more importantly who) he was, let alone what was making that hideous noise.

The clock's infuriating chime continued, thrusting him headfirst into unwelcome consciousness. The rhythmic beeping was as unpleasant to wake up to as being showered with ice-water, or having Pansy Parkinson staring down at you. Draco shivered involuntarily at the thought.

"Beep, beep…Beep, beep…Beep, beep…"

Propping himself up on one elbow, he stared daggers at the blinking "Muggle piece of crap" as he affectionately named it, as though daring it to continue. He often wondered _how_ the damned thing worked, electronics were, supposedly, not able to function on school grounds. To add to this the batteries had long before been removed by his roommate, who complained that the thing had an appalling way of going at the worst time (he claimed it was just when a dream was "getting _good_"). So in a fit of rage he had removed and set fire to the batteries and placed every curse he ever knew on the piece of American plastic. Unfortunately, nothing worked. It was possessed. Bill, the roommate previously mentioned, claimed it was the devils way of screaming at him.

Speaking of Bill, the noise seemed to have finely jolted him out of sleep, and he sat up, sandy brown hair sticking up in all directions (of course this was how it looked on a "good hair day"). He mumbled some illegible nonsense, before covering his ears and whining, "Oh _god_! Not _again!_"

Fingers plugging his ears he shouted over the electronic beeping, "GOD DAMN IT DRACO! Shut that thing UP! Normal people ARE NOT AWAKE AT THIS HOUR!"

Stifling an angry yawn, Draco let his gray eyes slide over the clock's surface. "It's 11:00, Bill…"

Bill turned to face him, his always child-like eyes narrowed in an attempt to look mad. Scrambling for a pillow he tossed it across the room, shouting as he did so, "I KNOW!" 

The pillow landed harmlessly ten feet from its desired target, and the "target" simply rolled his eyes.

By now the beeping had doubled, and Draco, never able to figure out how to shut it off manually, tossed it heavily against the wall. 

Thankfully it stopped, and Bill, grumbling, pulled the covers back over his head, murmuring something about "mornings being God's way of pissing him off."

Several minutes past before Bill's light squeaking snores could be heard again, softly joining those of the other boy, Shawn, who had remained sleeping despite Bill's outburst.

Draco collapsed back against the bed, feeling it creak with age. He rubbed hard at his temples, feeling the base of a headache beginning. Mornings were definitely _not_ his favorite part of the day.

He lay still awhile, just savoring the silence, devouring it like dessert before dinner, before forcing himself up, out of the warmth and flawlessness of bed and into the dim and desolate day.

His feet touched against the cold dungeon stones, sending goose bumps over his legs and a reflexive shudder through his shoulders. Ignoring it, he walked briskly to the door, pulling on his black robe that lay conveniently in his path.

With out looking back he swung open the door and left, only half knowing where he was going and only half caring. 

***

The same light that filtered into the icy dungeons flooded the infirmary, leaving not one place to be touched with darkness. Madam Pomfrey's painstakingly washed sickbay seemed to scream clean as the sunlight flowed over it. 

The nurse had always been overly paranoid about keeping dirt, in all forms, away from her patients. The perfect, almost blinding, white of the room proved this point. Everything in its place, and a place for everything.

But this morning Madam Pomfrey was not washing bed sheets or scrubbing the fingerprints off the door. Instead she stood with her head hung low, ignoring the dirty footprints that needing mopping up, and wringing her hands. Professor Dumbledore stood before her, looking very much the same. His soft face creased with worry and he continuously took off his glasses to polish them in a very nervous way.

They conversed in low tones, their conversation straying from the normal polite daily wonders of "How are you?"

In fact, things had changed so much over the last hours that Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey seriously wondered whether "normal" would describe their lives ever again.

Their eyes darted from each other to the sleeping figure occupying the only bed in use. Both felt dazed, almost humbled.

Madam Pomfrey finally found the tongue to say the question that swirled around her head. "Do you really have to…?" her voice cracked with pain and she couldn't finish.

Dumbledore sighed, touching his long white beard and glancing at the sleeping girl. "You _know_ I have to, Poppy. We've talked about this before now. We all knew this would have to happen! Professor Trelawney said…"

"That old bat?" Pomfrey interrupted, and then, as though surprised by her outburst, she covered her mouth. "What I mean," she whispered, her voice dropping to a soft tone. "Is that herer, _reliability_ in predicting isn't very good. You must admit, Headmaster, that her last, er, twenty-some "predictions" never came true."

Dumbledore shot her a very angry look, and tried to keep his voice steady. "I have _complete_ faith in my teachers, _including Professor Trelawney_. Her prediction was the same as one made before we even were born. Needless to say, this was going to happen, all I do is play my part…its destiny"

"But-but, sir, I know I agreed to do whatever was necessary to help, but-," she stared at the small bed and a tear ran down her face. "Think of what we're doing! This is not a soldier," she motioned toward the girl. "This is a _child_!" Tears flowed openly from her soft eyes. "I just- I- I didn't think she would be this young…"

A soft pause. "…I know…"

A forgotten silence hovered over the air, and the two were quiet. Neither had actually believed that it would come to this, that this child would hold such a destiny…now they could only hope that what little they had done could change it.

Dumbledore walked to the bed, his feet making little noise on the soft tile. He almost wished it did make noise, anything to break the screaming silence.

He paused over the girl, watching her twist and turn, her gently fair face scrunched with pain, whether from her wound or from her dream he didn't know. He almost smiled, knowing that she would forget her pain soon. Soon she would be a normal teenager, soon this _destiny_ would disappear…he only hoped it was that simple…

He held out his wand and braced it against her forehead, lightly hearing Pomfrey sob behind him. His voice cracked with pain. "I'm doing this to help you." He whispered, knowing she couldn't hear him.

_"Obliviate!"_

(A/N: for those who don't know, that's a memory charm…not like a killing charm or anything…)

***

Draco stalked slowly through the cold, dew-covered grounds. His robes hem dragged unpleasantly over the grass, soaking the base. 

Yesterday everyone's excuse for not going outside was that it was "too hot," now it was "too cold." Irony is lost on idiots, and idiots are the only ones who bother to search for it.

Change from the heat wave was welcome, even though some joked that it looked like an ice wave was taking over.

The cold never really bothered Draco, partially because he spent most his life in the dungeons, which were conveniently made before the wondrous invention of central heating.

It's strange that Draco could look so different from his surroundings and yet completely blend in. His tall black figure just seemed to fit in, silhouetted serenely against the noon-sun's glowing rays.

Opposites: black on white. Two completely different colors that bring to mind two completely different images, but both build the structure of Draco. White skin, soft, silky, strong and weak rolled into one. Black soul, hard, untouchable, unfeeling, cold and alone. They blended together in such a wonderfully terrifying way.

Of course, Draco's currant thought was not of his appearance. In fact he'd stopped caring how he looked, or who noticed. It was a childish thing to do. His thoughts drifted instead to his father. The reason he was no longer weak and scared. Abuse can do strange things to you. Some become reliant, fragile and needy. Others become like Draco. They refused to blame themselves, they take the punishment and grow stronger. Malfoy rule number 7580 "Whatever doesn't kill you is a lesson to be learned," Draco had learned this lesson repeatedly, and each time the icy look deep in his gray eyes became more and more distinct. 

Now he walked, head hung low, hair flowing over his carefully closed eyes, hands burred deep within his pockets. The abuse had stopped bothering him a while ago, but he couldn't forget who he was. A Malfoy. A hater of, well, just about anything with a pulse…and a few things without one. He was constantly reminded of his heritage, a long line of murderers and vampires, kings and veela's. 

They trusted him to be a replica of Lucius. Hardly anyone gave him the chance to be different. The role of Malfoy was set up, and now he had to act it. People around just stopped caring, even those that had seen the "good" side of him sneered or flinched when his name was spat out. They never referred to him as Draco anymore, just Malfoy, making sure they said it like a curse.

No one cared whether he wanted this life or not, it was his and he had to live it. Only two people bothered to actually know him. Only two people looked unshaken by his name. His now permanent roommates, Bill and Shawn. After Crabbe and Goyle got in that "accident" in potions a year ago and blew each other to many small and oozy green pieces, Draco had been resigned bunkmates. Two Slytherins he'd never bothered to get to know, now he almost considered _friends_. 

A movement in the castle brought his eyes flashing up, craning to see through the high open window. Something was going on in there…what he couldn't tell but…but wasn't that… wasn't that the Infirmary window?

*** 

Headmaster Dumbledore was nowhere in sight, and the Slytherins were taking advantage of this rare opportunity.

"FOOD FIGHT!"

Mashed potatoes flew through the air like missiles, finding their targets almost every time. Very few people, other then the Slytherins, were participating (if you don't count being the targets as participating).

The Ravenclaws looked horrified, and when taunted to join in they simply turned their noses in the air and muttered about "Stupid rude and wasteful beasts". This only earned them a volley of food in their direction. The Gryffindors were lecturing everyone in sight about how food fights broke code number 457 in the Hogwarts rule book. The Hufflepuffs were currently hiding under their table, refusing to come out until the headmaster arrived.

Shawn pushed past the mashed potato covered door and into the dinning hall, swiftly ducking a flying sandwich and taking his normal seat at the head of the table. 

Hardly anyone else was seated. Almost every Slytherin was on their feat, some sort of food product in their hand. The Ravenclaws gave up, and were taking the Hufflepuffs example by hiding under their table. Several Gryffindors let their pride get the best of them and were returning fire. All in all, it was looking like a good day.

A goblet narrowly missed Shawn's ear, ruffling his raven-hair like a breeze as someone from across the room shouted, "Heads up!"

Shawn smiled, reaching slightly he picked up an un-tossed piece of toast and began to spread a thin layer of butter over its toasted surface, whistling under his breath. 

It looked like another wonderfully normal day.

***

If he'd known he was missing out on what would later be called Hogwarts best food fight in three centuries, Bill might have considered rolling out of bed. The key word there is _might_.

He gave a soft grunt that went unnoticed in the now empty room, and rolled over. At this point I might have gone into another dream sequence and shown you Bill's subconscious mind, but this story is only rated PG-13, and Bill's dreams are…well, not rated PG-13…

He twisted again in his stupor, muttering in a low tone, "Hey, babe…nice shoes…" before emitting a loud snore and rolling back into his previous position.

It's hard to believe that he could look even _more _innocent sleeping then when awake. His child-like mischievous look had faded, and he gave the impression of a lost toddler; cute and vulnerable. 

Of course anyone that _truly_ knew Bill would never, ever be fooled by his kid-like appearance. He _was_ just like a child…but worse…A boy in the midst of the "terrible two's" that had been stuck that way for sixteen years.

His cute innocence was the only thing keeping him from detention under overwhelming evidence, and to get out of any trouble all he had to do was adorn the puppy-dog face and whimper. The teachers bought it ever time. Even the time he was caught red-handed "studying" with his Divination tutor in the teachers' closet. A sad look, a few fake tears, and he was off scot-free.

One teacher, however, was incapable of buying the "cute and sinless" act. That teacher was Professor Snape. He _knew_ Bill faked it and _loved_ him for having such a manipulating attitude. In fact it was Snape who came to his rescue when McGonagall refused to believe it wasn't Bill who dropped Kool-Aid™ filled water balloons on Professor Binns for giving him a C+ on his history test. 

Innocence was the gift god gave him…he was just lucky that innocence could be faked.

Bill rolled over, kicking the way a dog does when dreaming of chasing a rabbit that's always just out of reach. 

His sleep filled mind failed to detect the faint sound of footsteps just beyond the dormitory wall, and his snore covered the squeaking noise made as the door handle was twisted open. 

Shawn entered, covered from head to toe in food. His night-black hair was dripping with what appeared to be (and hopefully was) orange juice. Several pounds of mashed potatoes and green Jell-O covered his robes, causing them to cling unpleasantly (well, not unpleasantly for the girls) to his chest and pants.

"Bill?" he called into the musty room, not really expecting an answer. "I brought you back some lunch."

Not noticing that Bill was dead asleep he kept talking, staring down at the turkey and cheese sub clutched in his hand. "I thought you might be hungry and…uh, only a couple people stepped on it. It should still be good! I mean, it looks O.K.-…" he broke off, interrupted by a large snore from his "attentive" friend. 

A husky laugh. "Fine, I guess you'll eat it later." Shawn set the dilapidated sandwich next to Bill's sleeping form, laughing inwardly at the look of pure naiveté set permanently on his friend's soft face. Shawn had long since come to understand that Bill was as guilty as they come, despite his outward appearance. Like a kid lost in a candy store, everything was for his taking and no one would ever convict such a sinless little baby.

Of course, Shawn was the complete opposite. His eyes glittered "guilty and proud", and the seven deadly sins were on his weekend plan. His attitude screamed rebel, from his size 13 ½ feet (which he always bragged about) up to his slicked back silky black hair.

He may not have seemed so, well, evil, if it wasn't for his eyes. The irises were almost as black as his pupils, and they glinted like his smile. One girl even went as far as to say it was "like looking into the eyes of the devil". This was only _one_ of the reasons girls couldn't get enough of him.

Tall, dark and handsome; he fit the description perfectly. Dark meaning attitude, because the odds of Shawn being able to reach a tan was slim to none. But his pale icy skin only seemed to add to the dark aura that surrounded him. Slap on some pointed teeth and you have yourself one top-of-the-line vampire. 

Chicks dig the bad guy. There's no point in denying it. Shawn lived by that motto, and had, at one time or another dated every girl in the sixth and seventh year (of course, their "relationships" only lasted, at the most, fifteen minutes). Well, with the exception of one; Leah had made it quite clear that she would rather jump into a burning building covered in gasoline then date him. When Shawn explained that it wasn't a date, per say, but more of a harmless pick up she promptly repeated herself with even more vigor and hate.

For her birthday Bill bought her a can of gasoline; and a pack of matches complete with a card saying, "go for it". Needless to say, Leah hated them both with a fiery passion.

***

It was nearly mid-night when the girl first stirred.

The two professors sat in silence, as they'd done for hours, staring at the softly breathing girl. Talking only seemed to add to the tense atmosphere, the nervous shaking of their voices echoing strangely in the clean room. There was also the awkwardness of what to say. Situations like this normally don't call for conversations about the weather.

And so, ever since this morning, they'd sat in silence, just watching the girl sleep, their own thoughts drifting along the same lines. Memory charms were considered illegal if not authorized, and Dumbledore had made it quite clear that he wanted to keep the Ministry out of this. Each doubted the odds that they would get caught, and it was bumped from their long list of things to worry about. On the top of that list was what the memory charm may do to the girl, neither had attempted such a long-term charm and the results had yet to be seen.

An awkward, yet not surprisingly tense, stillness hung over the cool night air. The moon's bright shadow rested over the single bed, its quartz light twisting through the girl's silky white-blond hair. Even in sleep she held a soft, untouchable beauty that matched the moon's shine perfectly. She carried her looks gracefully, the absence of make-up only adding to her look. Her hair was to thin to tangle, but was combed in places with dirt or blood, giving the impression that looks were the last thing on her mind. A thin lily-white face, flawless to the touch, and soft light hair that waved and moved with a water-like flow. A Veela's body; tall yet petite, thin and perfect. 

All this would give the impression of a snotty breakable girl that owned an ego the size of her fan club, if her aura didn't scream the opposite. She seemed soft, yet unbelievably strong willed. Dangerous flashing eyes, which turned from gray to blue to green with the switch of a light. The type of girl you just _know_ has been through hell and back, the kind of girl that never tells you her secrets and pulls away from emotional touch. 

Now, of course, as the moonlight grazed her narrow face, she looked peacefully tense (if such a thing exists), her body relaxed yet her hands supporting her head were clenched. 

Her eyes fluttered open noiselessly, the sudden movement going unnoticed by Madam Pomfrey and Professor Dumbledore who had began to nod into sleep. She uttered a soft muffled sigh, and lifted her head, a single hand coming up to push her thin hair back and to rub sleep from her suddenly bright eyes. She blinked several times in the moonlight, quietly letting her eyes adjust. 

Dumbledore lifted his head just about the same time Madam Pomfrey did, and the sudden action caused the girl to turn.

There was a slight pause for around one fifth of a second, then she did what any sensible person would do when waking up in a completely unfamiliar place surrounded by two absolute strangers.

She screamed.

***

Deep in the Slytherin dungeons, Draco looked up from his sketching, ignoring the clock (having been fixed) flashing 12:00. 

"Did you guys hear something?"

Shawn slowly turned his magazine's glossy page. "Nope."

"… huh … I guess it was just me."

***

"WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?" She snarled, mouth open in a picture of pure horror. She scrambled for the covers, wrapping them tightly around her body in a swift protective manor.

Outside the perfect stillness of night was shattered. A heavy dark cloud slid over the moon, banishing the Infirmary into near darkness. A strong gust of sudden wind ripped through the air, slicing past the window. Each of the three people felt its icy blast strike their face like a slap. It whipped past them, rustling the neatly stacked papers and slamming into the almost shut door causing it to bounce back on its hinges. 

The sudden crash of the door flinging open mixed with the quick creak of the bed as the girl leapt up. 

A memory charm can erase the past, but instinct is something running through your blood. The unexpected reveling of a way out stirred those instincts deep in the girl's mind, and all comprehension was lost as she pushed herself up to run. 

She managed to, literally, _leap_ out of bed, but the movement sent a sudden wave of pain through her side. She gave a sound barely distinguishable from a gasp or a scream, and her legs crumpled from underneath her. Her light body made hardly a noise as she hit the white tiled floor. Blinded by pain she could do nothing but lay there, gasping for air in long wavering breaths. 

The two professors leaped up in unison, their chairs hitting the floor with an earth stopping crash. 

Pomfrey raced forward, carefully tucking her arms around her shaking figure and pulling her back to the bed. The wind picked up, rustling against the girl's cut robes and finding its cold way into the long slash deep in her side. The freezing wind hitting her sore skin caused her to shake more, and as the nurse placed her back into the bed she looked almost in a seizure.

The overwhelming fear of being trapped had flooded from her now soft blue eyes, along with her paranoid instincts. In fact, the tense, dangerous aura dissolved, if only for the moment, to be replaced by a whimpering child, curling into a ball of pain on the soft white sheets. Her arms wrapped over her pain lashed head, pulling it toward her knees in an effort to shield herself.

Dumbledore walked forward, placing a comforting hand in her silky hair, looking down at the shaking bundle with large sympathetic eyes.

She regained herself slightly, managing to straiten out and roll onto her back, hand still clenched over her right side, just at the ribcage. 

"Why does it hurt?" she whispered, like a child asking about a scraped knee. "Oh god, why does it hurt?" A soft question, almost more of a plea for understating then a demand for an answer.

Madam Pomfrey's hand slid over to the bed-stand searching for her wand. Softly as she could she held the oak end against the girl's side, ignoring her gasps of pain, and gently chanting a few simple words.

The pain began to flow off like water, slowly it drained invisible energy over her gash, bring relief to the sour skin. 

The girl gave a soft sound of surprise, her composer coming back by the second, flooding the area the pain had left.

"Are you alright?" asked Dumbledore quietly, his hand still protectively supporting her head.

The girl seemed at a loss for an answer. Silently she glanced from the blood slowly covering the once perfectly white sheets, to her hands, covered in the same sticky red substance. "I-I'm fine," she replied, eyes moving back and forth. "I just…what happened?" she asked finally, her eyes coming to rest, for the first time, on the headmaster.

On the other side of the bed, Madam Pomfrey's face split into an overly quizzically expression, and she stated completely unconvincingly, "Oh! She doesn't remember!" It was an astoundingly obvious thing to say, but the nurse looked as though she deserved an Oscar for most fake performance of the century.

Dumbledore rolled his sparkling blue eyes, staring at the ceiling for a few seconds then turning back to the girl.

"You don't remember?"

A light pause, then a slight shake of the head. "no"

Dumbledore stared deep into her eyes, a look of indescribable honesty set on his wise features. "Yesterday evening you were found unconscious in a forest not far from here. You were stabbed." At this the girl glanced back down at the long slash in her robes and side, both incrusted with red-brown blood. Even without the pain, she had to wince. "You've been in here," he gestured to the dark room. "the infirmary, ever since. We-we don't know anything else about you. Maybe you can fill in the rest."  
Another pause, another shake of the head. 

Dumbledore and Pomfrey exchanged meaningful looks before he continued. "Nothing? Your name? Your age? Your school?"

A slight smile grazed her features, not a soft joyful smile, but a cruel condescending smile more like a smug smirk then anything else. "I'm sixteen. I've never been to school, I travel." She shrugged. "I _can_ remember. But-but the main places are just…gone…"

Cold silence enveloped them. Everyone seemed lost at what to say. Dumbledore finally shattered the quiet. "But, your name?"

The girl looked up and turned to the headmaster. Blushing a pale coral that lightly tinged her cheekbones, she bit her lip. "To be honest." She said softly, seeming to forget the oddness of talking to complete strangers like old friends. "I-I don't know." She sighed, moving slightly in the uncomfortable silence. Unfortunately this sent another throbbing pain through her veins. 

Dumbledore's hand came down to grip her shoulder in a strong sympathetic way. "Are you alright?" he whispered softly, eyes wide with concern.

Her eyes darkened suddenly, and the dreary tone burst from her voice in a blast of anger. "Oh yes," she growled sarcastically. "I'm just _peachy_! It looks like someone took a pitchfork to me, and I can't remember_ who the hell I am!_ But other then that _I'm just fine_." She blinked, and her eyes lost the angry sparkle. Taking several large breaths she tried to calm herself, completely ignoring the looks of shock from the two professors. 

Dumbledore, after shaking off the look of shock, began to laugh, murmuring under his breath, "Well, at least you're handling the situation maturely."

The girl shot him an enraged stare, and the question that, until this point, had vanished from her head, was asked in a cynical snappish manner. "Who the hell are you, anyway?" 

"I," he said, voice dripping with joy at being asked. He raised his arms dramatically and proudly, and quite melodramatically, stated, "I am Albus Dumbledore! Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

" . . .The hog-what?"

His arms slowly dropped, along with his proud smile. It's hard to imagine such a wise and idolized man acting in such a childish way, the way Dumbledore choose to act now. "HogWARTS! You know," He looked at her hopefully. "The school. Hogwarts? Oh come now, you _must_ know of it!"

Taking another calming breath, she snapped back, "I can't remember my _name_, let alone some Hog-wash school."

"HogWARTS! Not wash!"

"Whatever."

By this time Madam Pomfrey was getting tired of being ignored. "Ahem…" she said softly, her voice barley making any sort of noise. The other two didn't hear, and didn't look up. "Ahem!" she tried again, raising her voice slightly. Still her unbelievable fake cough went unnoticed. "AHEM!"

Both the headmaster and the girl looked up, their faces splashed with surprise. The nurse recovered herself, and straitened her robes looking just a tinge embarrassed by her out burst. As though suddenly deciding her robes were as strait as they could possible get, she turned to the other 

"I am," she began, deciding that if Albus refused to introduce her, she may as well do it herself. "Madam Pomfrey. Nurse and curator of this Infirmary, where, I must remind you, _you_ are recovering and enjoying our hospitality."

"Of course," agreed the girl. "I _really_ am enjoying this _pleasant_ experience! Why, if it wasn't for the excruciating pain, I'd be in paradise." She finished with a sickeningly sweet smile, her top lip twitching with discomfort. 

Pomfrey was completely unused to be treated with anything other then respect, and so puffed herself up indignantly. "You listen here, you imprudent little brat, " She lectured, pointing her finger menacingly. The girl's eyes widened with disgust at the words. "If _I_ was your mother-,"

"_Oh thank God_ you're not." Another look of pure disgust.

"-I'd teach you a thing or two about manners! _What did you just say to me_?"

" . . . nothing . . . "

"Why you stuck up-,"

Now it was Dumbledore's turn to fake cough, bringing the immediate attention of the arguing duo. Shooting them both a look that said quite clearly "shut up", he turned to the nurse.

"Could I talk to you a moment, Poppy?"

Pomfrey's eyes clouded, and she kicked her feet like a child having been asked to clean their room. With one last look, so sour it could have curdled milk, at the girl she turned sullenly and followed the headmaster out the thick Infirmary door.

Once outside, Dumbledore carefully pushed the door back closed, leaning his elbow against its smooth surface to push it fully shut. It snapped tight, and his blue eyes darted up to the nurse.

Behind the small, gold rimmed glasses permanently resting on the tip of his nose, Dumbledore's eyes sparkled a cool blue. Of course Madam Pomfrey was far to busy ranting to notice.

"That ignorant, little miss…imprudent brat….no respect for elders…sarcastic git…" were some of the very few things legible from her enraged speech. Furiously she shook her finger, as though making an extremely important point. Also, she seemed unable to stand still, and continuously walked a few steps, turned around, retreated her steps, and then repeated the process, or simply rocked on the balls of her feet, murmuring about teenage recklessness.

Dumbledore, rolling his eyes, crossed his arms and stared down at the ranting women, waiting for her to burn out. Unfortunately, it didn't look like that would happen any time soon.

"Poppy-" he started impatiently.

"…completely out of control! That's what's wrong with them today Completely out of control! Give them a little space, and they think they own the world! Why in my day-"

Dumbledore rubbed his temples in aggravation, lightly hearing the Infirmary clock chime one. 

"in _your _day," Dumbledore finished loudly, causing her to stop and turn. "you had to walk fifteen miles to school…barefoot…uphill, _both ways_…in the snow! Right?"

Pomfrey mouthed noiselessly, a look of surprise plane on her features. "Have I told you that story already?"

Dumbledore tried vainly to hide his smile, hoping for courtesy sake that his laugh sounded more like a cough. In an effort to veil his amusement, he broke his eye contact with the nurse and let his gaze wander down the hall.

His eyes stopped at a pack resting against the wall. Resting may not be the best word; collapsed better describes it. Old, battered and worn it lay with a waiting presence, bring an immediate remembrance to the headmaster.

Tearing his eyes from the dilapidated pack he turned back to Pomfrey. "She doesn't remember." He said softly. It wasn't a question, nor was it a true statement. 

Madam Pomfrey's mood didn't change in the slightest. Tapping her foot, and with a sigh and a rolling of her eyes, she answered. "That's normally what memory charms _do_."

"I guess that's a good thing." Dumbledore thought out loud, while really wondering why he questioned the "good"ness of it all. Something didn't seem _right_, but what had he expected?

Clearing the distance in a few long steps, he scooped the pack up, staring down at it as though wanting it to show him the answers. Of course it couldn't because…well, it was pack, and packs have never been the best at spilling life's secrets. That's just the way it is.

Silently he turned and walked past Madam Pomfrey, pushing the heavy door back open and slipping in. Pomfrey followed after.

The girl was laying on her back, eyes resting on the ceiling. Her bed was bathed in moonlight, adding to the surreal look and perfectly completing her lily-white complexion. For one sharp fleeting moment Dumbledore thought she may have fallen back asleep, but as they entered her head snapped back up, eyes following them as they slowly returned to the side of her bed. 

It almost frightened the old headmaster the way she stared down at the two of them. Her beauty was remarkably soft and gentle making her look like the child she was. It was the eyes that sent that all to familiar chill down his spine.

Her eyes did not belong in such a loving body; they just didn't fit. The inner, deep ink black circles flashed a blood red, and seemed to pierce through and wrap around your heart. It was an obscure, completely vulnerable feeling that forced Dumbledore to look down uncomfortably. 

Think of demon straight from the fiery depths of Hell. Now picture its burning eyes lighting fire to your soul, and now place these tortured sockets on the body I've the girl I've described. That's what it felt like to Dumbledore.

In his long life he'd dealt with some of the worst and most cunning evils ever to spawn into life. None had scared him. Now he stood faced by a girl, no more intimidating then a student, and yet she struck him with a cold dreading fear that until now he'd never had the horror of knowing. 

So as he entered, head down, feeling her eyes bore into his body, he began wondering if this was anything like the intimidation the children sent to his office felt.

Stopping by her bedside he waited patiently for Madam Pomfrey to rush to the other side. It's strange that the five-second walk from the door to the girl had seemed to last hours, even days. _"Well, if time fly's when your having fun…"_ he thought, a twitch of a smile curving his thin lips. 

Carefully, as though fearing he would be blasted to pieces, Dumbledore looked up. His eyes locked with the girls, and it seemed obvious that she looked a lot less frightening. The deep soul burning flash was dimmed, and was dimming more and more by the second. It was replaced with emptiness, dull and forgotten. I can only describe it as ignorantly intelligent. Like something was missing from a puzzle that would otherwise be a masterpiece of the mind.

The sudden change surprised Dumbledore so much he almost forgot the bundle clutched in his, quickly falling asleep, arms. He collected himself remarkably, hiding every thought under his bright blue eyes and wise exterior. He let the pack slid from his arms and land with a thud and a bounce on the bed.

"We found this near you," he said, voice barely more then a whisper. He looked up from the pack to Madam Pomfrey, who nodded. "Perhaps it's yours."

Another quick silent glance at the nurse. The girl looked at both of them, questioning eyes. Then she pulled the battered cloth bag toward her and dumped the contents out.

It wasn't much. A few robes some soaked in dirt or blood. A few crumpled ripped pieces of parchment. A raven quill. A long willow wand, nine inches, unicorn hair. A single bottle of Dragons-Blood ink, the same deep red color that died the quills end. And several other strange, and rather random, items. Nothing stirred even the slightest memory, but the wand fitted her hand like magic, proving it to be hers. 

She'd began to lose hope that anything of importance was every to be recovered from her mind.

Then she saw the box.

Wrapped in a few dusty and decaying old battered rags, it seemed normal at first. Slowly, one by one, she pulled the rags off, watching them unfold like a mystery. Old cloth and robes were tightly bound over the parcel, the way a poor man will wrap his one priceless object up for safe keeping.

Finally the last rag was painstakingly removed, and the girl stared in speechless awe at the treasure set before her.

Rosewood, a perfect square at nine inches. The sealed top was covered in the most elaborate carvings known to man. At each of the corners was carved a single rose, that blossomed before your eyes. Its vine like leaves wove around the side, curving up to the silver corners. 

"It's beautiful." Murmured the girl, staring at it as though wanting to touch the flowers, but afraid the picturesque vision would shatter. "So beautiful"

Dumbledore watched her as she gazed at it in humbled admiration, he to could barely look at it without a ting of jealousy for the girl arising. Softly he leaned forward, forcing the girl to look in his eyes. 

His voice was urgent, but controlled. "Can you remember anything now? Your name, you fami-" he was cut off as the girl looked back down, her hand running over a single carving he failed to notice. 

It was a name, engraved in small calligraphy style. The girl lightly slid her fingertips over it, reading the words aloud and feeling she'd finally answered one question. 

"my name," she whispered, so quietly Dumbledore was almost sure it was the whisper of the wind. "Marcella M. Cline." 

Outside the wind picked up more, and a whip of thunder cracked as the girl breathed the soft words. Something inside her turned. She felt sick. Deep inside one memory tried to push out, forcing around the charm and reminding the girl of one simple thing.

Though someone may take your identity, your past, and your present, there is one thing they can never take.

Your feeling of _self._ You are you, no matter your memories.

And deep inside she knew that this girl, was not her.

Though she would answer to this call, and call herself the same, something remained certain to the frightened girl inside. 

This was not her name.

* * *

Ok, that's the end! Sorry, that was really confusing, bare with me and it will sort out by the end.  
Be a pal, review! If you do I'll love you forever!  
By the way, tell me what you think of Bill and Shawn. Bad? Good? Weird? Er, and they currently do not have last names, so if you think of any, please tell me!   
I love you all! Cellamonder

   [1]: mailto:cella001@hotmail.com



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